Heal
by Spliced-up-Angel
Summary: War. This was the one place I feared. War. That very word is strong enough to kill a man. Rather, if he were to be in love, it would be another story. It's funny. Cadets should not know fear. This was not the case... Brick/Scott


**Congratulations, again to JumpersAndKittens, the first place winner of my oneshot contest. They requested a Brick/Scott oneshot. Be sure to check out the NoCo oneshot they also requested titled, "Save The Last Breath." Anyways, this pairing is very unique, I never even thought of it (trust me, I can think of some pretty random pairings...). I suppose I can say I'm a fan now. This was inspired by the song "Travelling Soldier" by Dixie Chicks (a country song, I know... I went through this weird faze a couple years back. Thank God I turned back to rock XD). I am on March Break until March 19, so I will try to get most of the requests done in this time frame. Anyways, it was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy!**

**Heal**

War. This was the one place I feared. War. That very word is strong enough to kill a man. Rather, if he were to be in love, it would be another story. It's funny. Cadets should not know fear. This was not the case. In this case, fear took me over, like cattle on a ranch. Like a soldier's last breath, taken by hydrogen bombs. Like a lover taken over by the terrors of judgement. Love was the only thing I could fully say that would mend someone's fear of war. Love is the healer of all evil. All one needs is love.

I sat in the coffee shop. The one with the booths, trimmed with scarlet fabric, so comfortable it would make any couch feel like a bed of nails. The trimming along the walls, designed in many shapes, were always my favourite part. The pale, wooden tables were always so clean; they're like mirrors. I still remember the slim reflection displayed as I checked out my uniform. I was quite handsome back then. My hair was in a dark buzz cut, and my body was fit a muscular. My smile was kind, but rough as it was mandatory to appear tough. But who was there to say I wasn't? I needed to work hard in order to serve my country. I lay my head back, and relaxed. I was a regular there, quite popular indeed. This fantastic coffee shop that I'd visited so many times was the greatest place to get lost in my thoughts. I was going to war the next day, so I needed to relax. I'd lost a loved not long ago, while I was serving. I was still not sure about leaving again.

A waitress approached my table. She wore an apron over a red dress, her brown hair was much too short to be in the uniform ponytail, different for a woman of her time. Her small, white name tag read the name, _Staci_, beside a small Canadian flag. Staci was rather large. Not in a bad way, I mean, her figure suited her. She was a new employee as I'd never seen her until that day. "What can I do for ya?" she asked, laying her arm on the table, and leaning in a little too close. As I said before, she wasn't the smallest person, so she took up a great deal of the table. I didn't mind, though.

"A coffee, Ma'am. The regular," I responded, looking up at her with a kind smile. She deserved my respect, as any man- or woman for that matter.

"Ya, you're a soldier?" she asked, after writing my order on a piece of paper, with a thick pen.

"Yes, ma'am, I live to serve every day," I responded proudly.

Her response was rather offensive; I tried not to let it get to me. It would be ignorant, anyway. "Well, my great, great, great, grandfather created war. Before that, we used to-"

"Staci! Get over here!" her boss called from the back.

She looked at me, "I'll get back to ya on that." Staci left, after that.

I sighed and leaned into the table. Five more days until I was to serve, might as well enjoy what might be last days. I remembered the times I shared with my fellow veterans at the training camp; the assertive Jo, the narcissistic Lightning, the strange Mike, and the fearless Cameron. Early hours of training, complete focus, running laps, eating less, exercise- that was the highlight of my life. This coffee shop was the only place I dedicated my life to, that was not the army. Who could blame me? I'd lost the one I loved. I wasn't even there at his death bed, or when he was fighting his own wounds, and I wasn't there to tell him how much I loved him before his last breath. I sighed deeply, holding my head. I needed something or someone to fight for. That was the whole reason I joined the army; that and money problems. I was hurting inside, but I didn't want to show it. I didn't want to come across as weak.

I heard a loud scream, I shot my head up. My attention was drawn elsewhere. "And stay out, Kitchen Rat!" I cocked my head in the direction of the screaming see a ginger boy, dressed in a wife-beater, being thrown out of the kitchen. He sat up, on the ground and rubbed his head. The strange ginger angrily glared at the door. He then got up and began to walk towards the door. I wondered what was going on. I made it my mission to figure out what happened and to change this situation for the better.

As he passed by my table, I realized that he wasn't that bad looking, either. To be frank, he was very attractive. This boy's hair was orange enough to make oranges jealous, his hair was pushed back into a greased cut, his arms showed some sign of buff (not nearly as close as mine), his freckles added a cute look to him, yet his expression gave him a tough look. However, he appeared as a hard-case as his wife-beater obviously hadn't been washed in a while and his jeans were clearly worn out. Our eyes met, as he halted with his hand on the door. He was about to push the door open, but he refrained. He gave me an annoyed expression and spat, "What are you looking at?"

"Uh-uh, well. Sir, there seems to be something wrong with you and I'd like to help you with it," I told him, giving him a nice smile.

"What are you, some kind of tool?" He asked. He was now looking at me strangely. My warm expression changed. He stepped away from the door and walked over to where I was seated.

"I'm not sure what you're asking. I was just-"

The ginger cut me off. He sat down opposite from me. He pulled out a knife and began carving the side of the table I loved so much, eyes not leaving my face, "Don't bother trying to understand," he grinned manically, "There's no point. So, tell me. Are you some sort of army dude? You think you're all big because you serve the country?"

"I'm more modest than that-"

"I wasn't finished speaking, _Sargent_," his wicked grin reached his round eyes. The strange boy didn't scare me, he was just so sinister. "You have a name?" he continued. I didn't know if he wanted me to speak or not, so I kept quiet. "You can speak now."

"Colonel Brick McArthur at your service!" I saluted him.

"_Great_," he rolled his eyes, "Skip the fancy introduction and your life story." He went back to picking the side of the table; I assumed he forgot about leaving.

I watched him pick at the table; he was really digging in there. His eyes were completely focused on the flat board. It was completely unethical. From what I could see, the edges were clean and smooth- not jagged at all. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I feared his response. Since I was unarmed and much too modest to use defence unless necessary, I refrained from conflict with this stranger. Instead, I focused on his orange hair. He would move his head with the beat of his knifes hair refused to move; he must have really jelled it up. The ginger had a toothy grin painted on his face. The boy's eye brows were perched down like an animal. His expression failed to change through this time period as if he was some kind of rat. I realized where he got the nickname _Kitchen Rat_, then.

"Here ya go," a voice above me said. My gaze changed to see Staci, who placed my mug of coffee in front of me. She gave me a smile, looked to the ginger, and finally her gaze travelled back to me. "Can I get your friend anything?"

I called over to the ginger, who was still at the table, "Hey! uh-," I realized I had yet to learn what this fellow's name was, "Would you like something?"

He stopped what he was doing, glaring needles into my eyes, "Naw, I'm good."

"I think my boss caught you in the kitchen again," Staci stiffed a chuckle, "My great, great, great, great grandmother created kitchens. Before that, we would-"

"Staci! Leave the customers alone!" I heard once more from the back.

"Sorry!" the woman called, and then turned back to us, "I'll talk to you later. Just give me a holler if you need anything."

When she left, the ginger spoke, "Oh God! I thought she'd never leave!"

I grinned weakly, clutching onto my dog-tags, which were so important to me.

"What's that?" the boy asked. He grabbed the dog-tags from my clutches. He wickedly grinned as he looked at the picture which lived forever on those tags. "Ah, who's this?" he appeared amused.

"His name is Sam," I told him, feeling the pain of the words escape my mouth. It was so shameful how it was still difficult to bring this amazing man up. I fought to hold back the tears, the cry that was about to break free.

"Sam, eh? Your boyfriend?" The ginger asked in a mocking tone. I breathed in, staying strong.

"Sort of..." I replied.

"Well, whatever it is, this Sam guy is _fat_," his words were so dry and emotionless. I wanted to go over there and tear him to pieces. Alas, I was too proud to do that. It wouldn't be right to be violent. My moral code forbid me from laying a finger on this man.

"He was a strong fighter," I whispered, "As I was fighting in the war man created, he was fighting a war of his own."

He gave me a questioned look.

"Sam needed the money for treatment," I continued, hurting inside, "His insurance wouldn't cover his illness and I didn't have enough money to spare, so I did the most liable thing a man just out of high school could do; I joined the army."

"So, let me get this straight," he responded, sounding unconvinced, "You joined the war to support your sick boyfriend? Why are you still in the army, then?"

"I have nothing else to do," I responded quickly, "I can't just quit now. I suppose my inspiration has moved elsewhere. I am obligated to fight for my country now. Although, I do wish I had someone to fight for..."

The ginger nodded understanding. His eyes never left my face.

"Why do they keep throwing you out?" I asked. I told him my story; I felt that I should now his. An eye for an eye. Word for word.

"Mind your own business," he went to get up, but I grabbed his arm. He grimaced at me, then sat back down. "I like to steal, okay?" he responded, "I don't have a good home life; my folks threw me out at a young age because I was getting into trouble. The rents could care less about a child living on the street. I eat what I can find; it just so happens that this joint doesn't lock their back doors, so I make do." He shrugged it off, but I could feel a deep amount of hurt in his words.

I felt a rush of pity take over. At least I had a job and was living for something, even though it wasn't _someone_. This man had nothing. His parents left him, he was homeless, unemployed and he was clearly starving. I needed to help him even more now. "You can always stay at my apartment," I said subconsciously. What was I thinking? He was a complete stranger!

His eyes widened, "Really? I mean, we've just met and I hardly know you, man. It's a sweet offer, but-"

"I insist!" I was breathing hard now, so I calmed down. "I don't mind. I'll be away at war tomorrow, so you'll have the place to yourself until I'm done serving. If I die, consider the place yours- of course, if you are willing to get a job to pay half the rent."

He thought for a long moment. "I think I'd like that," he responded.

After I paid the bill, we walked outside the coffee shop. It was finally time to part our ways. "Here's my apartment complex, just ask for Brick McArthur when you buzz in."

The ginger took the piece of paper. "I appreciate this. Just one more thing to get taken care of," he smirked.

Before any questions could be asked, I was pressed to the brick wall. His warm lips were pressed roughly against mine. He pulled away, his eyes gazing into mine. "You have someone to fight for now," with that, he began walking away. I felt the hole in my heart filling up again. This man, this _stranger_ I've never met was who I was fighting for. I felt a whole new determination now. I would fight for this man, to support him, and make him a greater man. I smiled to the sky, knowing that Sam was gazing down at me, edging me on.

"Wait!" I called out. He stopped and turned his head back. "What's your name?"

"Scott," he replied, and was on his way.

**So, how was it? I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if it was OOC, I don't know the characters too well (considering they were present for less than thirteen episodes). I tried... Regardless, it was really fun to write a Brick story, since he is my favourite new character. Thank you so much for requesting this XD. Three more to go! Yays! Please R&R.**


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